


Caught in the Act

by brokenmemento



Category: Grace and Frankie (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 05:04:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14730500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenmemento/pseuds/brokenmemento
Summary: Amateur sleuthing leads to a fight and Grace and Frankie make up in a rather heated way.





	Caught in the Act

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mrs_Leslie_Knope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Leslie_Knope/gifts).



> From the Tumbr prompt: Grace and Frankie caught in the act by family, rating requested at E
> 
> I've had this done for a while, lilmissjem, but I didn't want ao3 to get tired my work being uploaded every few days or so, so I'm trying to space out some of my writing.

It wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did. Any of it.

The old saying goes, “The course of true love never did run smooth,” but Frankie figured some hack came up with the proverb in order to create an influx of psychology bills that netted hundreds of dollars per hour. Had even voiced as much to Grace when bemoaning the implosion of their marriages and her bitterness at having to let go.

Sol was supposed to be her life mate and he had left her high and dry for the remainder of her waning years. The forty she had devoted to him, to their children and creating a home, all dissolved into ashes.

Which is why when the ashes of her previous life sparked embers in her post-marriage performance, it was shocking. Shocking even more that those smoldering embers lit into a fire when around the one person who she figured she was destined to hate forever.

And maybe that is what the poetry of life is: the smears of imperfection on a page, aging and becoming familiar. Growing into a line, a stanza that eventually is reread and cherished.

******************************************************

When she sees the message ping on Grace’s computer, she looks around but has no idea where she has disappeared to. While she’d like to be the type of person who respects the privacy of others, she’s pretty much managed to never be that during the course of her entire life. No one she knows probably expects it of her, least of all Grace, for whom she has rummaged through every facet of her life since the day she moved in.

It takes Frankie all of five seconds to decide she absolutely will not _not_ look at Grace’s business, so she maneuvers the laptop so that it faces her and brings up the window with Facebook messenger. When she sees the name attached to the greeting, anger incenses her and blurs her vision. Every other bodily response is a chain reaction.

The name. That _fucking_ name popping up and reminding her that it wasn’t so long ago, Grace was a different person.

 _Hey, baby_ , it reads.

Baby. Like he has any right to still call Grace that, especially with all that’s happened. And really, Frankie honestly can’t blame him because it’s ingrained in his ego. Men like him believe they can take and that nothing will ever refuse them because of who they are and what control they can excise.

She wants to type back something snarky like “Suck it, you post-pubescent playboy,” but then she remembers Grace actually liked this slimeball not so long ago, that she was inviting him into her bed and inside of her. Frankie feels her blood boil again.

“What are you doing?”

Frankie jumps and shoves the computer back away from her. Grace stands on the other side of the table looking nothing short of breathtaking. Her hair is curled in delicate waves, a soft gray sweater and smart slacks adorning her body. Small gold earrings dangle from her lobes and a necklace and bracelet accessorize her ensemble. She’s waiting for an answer and it’s painfully obvious what Frankie was doing: being nosy. Straightening her shoulders, Frankie tries to adopt an air of indifference.

“Seeing your communications with Mr. Weaselton.”

Grace lets out a mirthless laugh and shoots Frankie a look. “Are you serious right now? I haven’t talked to Nick in ages.”

“Then what the fuck is this...?” Frankie grumbles, spins Grace’s laptop around and points to the message. “Baby.” She tacks it on to be extra petty.

“Did you see an answer?”

“Not yet, but only because I intervened before a travesty occurred.”

Grace’s fingers slam down the laptop, almost taking a few of Frankie’s with the lid. She leans over and stares straight into Frankie’s eyes. “Don’t do this. It isn’t a good look on you.” Spinning on her heels, she turns and picks up her keys and her purse.

Frankie can feel the lividity seeping out of her pores. She watches as Grace adjusts one of her earrings with a tilted head and sends Frankie a challenging smile. One that Frankie would like to wipe completely off her smug face.

“Mallory and Brianna should be by in about half an hour. Don’t wait up. Knowing the two of them and their penchant for drinking lately, I feel the need to humor them,” Grace explains as she combs through her purse, looking for what, Frankie doesn’t know.

She wants to make a jab at Grace’s dependency on alcohol as well, say something along the lines of _When do you need to humor someone else for something you do all the time_? But that doesn’t come out. It’s something they don’t talk about unless she becomes a raging asshole and embarrasses herself because of it.

“Are you sure a celebratory mom and daughter outing isn’t code for a sexual romp with a former flame? I’m surprised you really don’t have herpes after him.”

“Frankie, you’re treading on thin ice,” Grace warns, holding up a finger. “I’m not doing this with you. Not right now. Not tonight.”

“Oh, so you aren’t going to vehemently deny you aren’t doing that. Hmm, interesting,” Frankie responds, tapping her chin in faux amusement. She knows she's being a jealous jerk but it isn’t a role she hasn’t played before, (Sheree comes to mind) so she’s pretty good at it.

Grace rolls her eyes. “Here you are talking about a post-pubescent man, yet you’re acting like a snotty, petulant child yourself.” She swirls her keys around on her long, delicate fingers. “I’ll call the girls, tell them to meet me instead. I don’t want to expose anyone else to that attitude you’re wearing tonight.”

Frankie watches as Grace opens the door and makes to leave. She practically sprints to the door which is always difficult because of the damn clogs and she can only go as fast as a woman of her age can. Clopping along, she follows behind. The car is ahead in the driveway and a beeping noise pierces the air as the locks are undone.

“So were you going to tell me you were talking to him again or just leave it to my amateur sleuthing skills to find?” Frankie shouts, creating a din that their neighbors can probably even hear.

Grace spins so suddenly that Frankie bumps into her chest. Indignation burns in her eyes and Frankie has enough sense about her to think, _Uh-oh, holy shit_ , before Grace lights into her.

“What is this about, really? Are you worried someone else gets to fuck me instead of you? Is that what this boils down to?” Her voice drops an octave and she brings her eyes to look at Frankie’s lips, traveling down her body to her breasts and even lower.

Irritation spikes within, and yeah, maybe it is about someone else touching Grace and seeing parts of her that only she should be seeing. Since she’s already screwed up the night by instigating a fight, she might as well make it a good one. Stepping forward, she connects with Grace’s front, gently pushing her back as she continues forward.

“And what if it does boil down to that?” Frankie says lowly. Grace seems surprised a little and that irritation that was so apparent earlier? It’s fading by the seconds. “I should be the only one getting to see you completely bare. I’m the only one who should be getting to touch you here.”

Grace gasps as two things happen at once. Frankie’s hand is now between Grace’s legs and her posterior is against the hood of the car that is covered in dirt and boasts “It’s a fucking drought, asshole” beneath the words “Wash me” on the back.

Those smart slacks and the sweater that Grace donned are surely fucked up now too, so Frankie figures she might as well make the most of this situation before she’s by herself brooding. Brianna and Mallory can wait. She’s going to make Grace regret ever antagonizing her with even the mere insinuation of someone else being between her legs.

Frankie begins to make her way by feel alone through the fabric of Grace’s pants, searching and then finding her clit. With a thud, Grace’s purse hits the ground and her keys make a jingle on the driveway as her hands claw at the hood of the car to steady herself.

“Considering I pretty much buried my face in your thighs for the better part of a half hour not too long ago, you’re really going to make a big deal out of one message?” Grace says through gritted teeth. Frankie lazily circles and presses, knows its effect, continues on with the maddening pace.

“Ah, but that one message is from the biggest skeeze I think you ever brought home. All this time romping around with him upstairs when you could have found what you needed out in my studio,” Frankie chastises. She’s going to milk this a bit, stroke her own ego along with Grace tonight. Which seems to be the kind of thing Grace goes for.

“I couldn’t very well go to your studio because you had Jacob out there a lot and then you ran off across the country with him,” Grace whimpers, letting heavy breaths leave her nostrils. The front of the car looks like the fogged up windows on the old Renault in the movie Titanic, Grace’s handprints creating a smear across the hood.

Frankie knows if she had time to look back, to see how really disgusting the car is, she’d be throwing an even bigger fit. That’s why she makes it her top priority to make Grace completely forget her backside is covered in a layer of grime and instead that there is a hand nearing the waistband of her slacks that is about to give her a mind assaulting orgasmic experience.

The zipper of Grace’s doesn’t even put up much of a fight, much like its owner. It slides down with ease and Frankie can’t help but feel giddy with expectancy. She can see the black silk peeking through the opening. Imagines yanking the undergarment so hard, it becomes a casualty of this coupling and leaves Grace to walk shamefully into dinner with her children, bare beneath her only layer of clothing.

Her fingers reach in and bunch the smooth material, creating a fist on one side of Grace’s hip. Gravity and movement are impacting the ability of the pants to stay in place, so Frankie does what will happen eventually: she slides them to rest at Grace’s knees.

They could so get arrested for this. It’s not like their property is away from others and the only saving aspect to this whole thing is that most of their neighbors are of the older demographic and lack the spunk that both Grace and Frankie have. Most of them have probably closed the doors and turned down the sheets, television projecting old episodes of Gunsmoke and M*A*S*H.

“Yeah,” Frankie murmurs. “No one should be seeing this but me.” The irony isn’t lost on her that were someone to drive by, literally anyone could see it. Pushing that aside, she lets her right hand snake past the silky barrier and brush against the warm, wet place she’s come to love so much since they started whatever it is they’re doing. Categorization seems messy and too traditional for Frankie’s taste.

A taste she does care for is now clinging to her fingers in a coating that Frankie was semi-concerned about needing lube for, but Grace seems to have done just fine on her own. Her body has made this glorious substance and it seems like such a waste to get no enjoyment out of it. Deciding to be perverse a bit, to satiate a yearning, she brings her hand in front of Grace's face, showing her what she’s claimed.

“No one should be getting to try this flavor, ever,” Frankie sighs in contentment, knowing what’s next. Her pointer finger goes into her mouth, removes what she’s been after, and brings it out with an elaborate gesture. To amp it up a bit more, she lets a satisfied hum escape her in a low rumble.

“Ah,” Grace all but melts against the hood, the whimper dying on the air.

Frankie moves back in, using her mouth for other things now that she’s managed to render Grace speechless. For one that’s so good at sarcasm and rude comments, Frankie prides herself on being able to shut it down completely by whatever means. She takes to pulling a button out of its loop on the sweater, revealing a little bit more of Grace’s chest. The top swell of her breasts invites Frankie in and she places soft kisses on them while weaving her other hand back down into Grace’s depths.

No longer wanting to be an outsider, she deposits one finger into Grace’s folds and begins to feel. She's so smooth and tight, which is honestly surprising for a woman of their age. The old saying goes “use it or lose it” and Frankie supposes she should thank the long line of dickwads that kept Grace primed and ready to go because while lube would definitely be nice, it isn’t a necessity.

“Deeper,” Grace commands and grabs a handful of Frankie’s hair as she tosses her head back and moans. Of course there is little else to do other than obey when Grace has got her fingers laced with strands of brown and gray.

Frankie plants her left hand on the hood of the car and leans into Grace’s body, applying pressure and going where she’s been asked. Everything is a swirl of textures and sensations: the velvety sponginess of Grace’s secret spot, the sticky wetness covering her fingers, the smell of Grace’s perfume and come and nature in the air, the sound of moans and panting between the two of them.

“I’m almost there,” Grace tells her, then brings her leg up a bit to give Frankie better access and plants it on the bumper, which Frankie can’t figure out how she is finagling that with her pants basically around her ankles.

The words give Frankie purpose. They propel her into more invigorated action. The anger subsides a bit, now just a smear of residue in her chest. She knows she’s lucky to have this, to have Grace in the most intimate of ways. While her mouth tends to overflow and they fight better than they get along sometimes, Frankie would feel the loss of Grace acutely if something were to happen.

“Come for me. I want to feel you,” Frankie says against her throat and hair. A few more movements and she can feel what she’s told Grace she wants.

There’s always a beauty laced with it when happens, deep below the overt hotness and lusty fruition. Grace is a sight everlasting but in her moments of orgasm, it’s that loss of control she has, the completely letting herself come undone by someone else that Frankie finds the most fascinating.

Grace leans forward into Frankie, as if weary and needing a place to rest her body. Frankie’s own sings with hunger for more, for her own turn. She tilts her head and nudges Grace’s face up, connecting it in a thankful yet urgent kiss. During the push and pull, she manages to bend and bring Grace’s slacks back to their position, her undergarment also intact as well. Another travesty but perhaps rectified at another coupling.

The level at which Grace is buzzing seems to have been turned down a notch, but not completely off. Frankie has seen the look on her face, the determined one she reserves for moments requiring discipline and focus. Being a thorough and surprising lover has always been her goal, but Grace takes it to another level, like it’s her sole purpose. Like she refuses to let the idea of it even be brushed by failure.

“So was that punishment for the message from Nick, because it sure didn’t feel like it,” she smirks, hands leaning back to connect with the hood again. A challenge. Always testing.

“Just showing you what you would be missing if you ran off with Douche Canoe Supreme,” Frankie shrugs, nonchalant. Two can play, always.

A fire flares in Grace’s eyes and Frankie wants to ask her at what point she ever began to believe she wouldn’t meet her eye for eye, tooth for tooth. Reaching out, Grace yanks and spins her to where she is pressed against the dusty metal. She’s kissing Frankie with fury and carnality, shoving her hand up under the flowing skirt and not even trying to take it slow to make sure Frankie’s ready.

“Why would I go back to him when I’d miss feeling this?” Grace questions and deposits her long, slender digits along the expanse of Frankie below.

“You’re right. You’d be crazy,” Frankie agrees, taking the opportunity to grab a handful of Grace’s backside and groans. Another feeling she loves. So curvaceous and pliable, an indulgence she forgets to reward herself with from time to time.

“Aww, what...the...fuck?!” sounds to the side of them and Grace jumps away from Frankie as if she has received an electric shock.

Brianna and Mallory stand with mouths agape, staring at the two of them in a questioning manner. Grace has a chagrined look about her and lowers her gaze to her feet. Frankie can’t help but notice her disheveled appearance, not anywhere close to being ready for a night on the town with her daughters. A bit of latent annoyance surfaces in Frankie, still remembering how the two of them bombarded her with this melancholy story of their porcelain, fragile and breakable mother. _She’s pretty fragile when I make her come_ , Frankie thinks in exultation, but figures, judging by the faces Grace’s daughters are making, they wouldn't appreciate the crass reference to their mother’s sex life.

Of course, Brianna would be the one to scream out a question of disgust but then let astonishment mix with curiousness on her face. Mallory, on the other hand, just looks flabbergasted.

“Mom, what’s going on. You…” Mallory trails off, like she doesn’t know how to finish. She makes a gesture with her right hand, spreading her fingers out and wiggling them while making a jerky thrusting motion.

“You looked like you were finger banging Frankie,” Brianna supplies as Mallory turns to her in horror. Brianna waves her off and nods then pats her shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

“That’s not how I was going to finish that sentence,” Mallory squeaks.

“Speaking of finishing. Mom, do we need to backtrack for about…” Brianna looks at her watch. “About ten to fifteen while you take care of Frankie there?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Grace hisses finally.

Frankie can’t help but listen to all of it, not necessarily a casual observer but one not really concerned with the backlash occurring either. She’d like to feel a tad sorry for Grace, but it’s slightly amusing watching her fur raise. Plus whatever she says next is sure to be a shit show, if Frankie’s learned anything tonight and ever. Grace hates feeling backed into a corner.

“I forgot to call,” she continues on, rather obtusely. Like she’s remembering and speaking at the same time, more to herself than anyone else.

“I was in a shitty mood. Grace was going to meet you. Blah, blah, blah,” Frankie jumps in, a roll of her eyes giving them the only explanation she feels they can handle.

“Man, I can’t imagine now since you didn’t even get to…”

“What part of shut up did you fail to process?” Grace snarks to Brianna.

Brianna looks a bit smug and unfazed now that she has had time to gather what all has transpired. Mallory, on the other hand, is the picture of outrage and confusion.

“Mom, you’re outside. Mostly in public. Cars with people and families could drive by at any time and see the two of you out here doing…” she frowns and gestures again. “That. What were you thinking?”

“That Frankie runs her mouth too much and I might as well put it to good use,” Grace says bitchily. She squares her shoulders and crosses her arms and Frankie wants to do nothing more than throw her on the hood and fuck the daylights out of her properly for the sass she is throwing. It’s a huge turn on, as if she weren’t wound up enough already.

Frankie can’t help but let out a laugh and put her arm around Grace, drawing her closer so that their bodies have no space between them. She holds her in her arms and stares into those intense blue eyes. Able to help it no longer, Frankie leans in and kisses her slowly. Sensually. Just enough to shock the shit out of her offspring even more.

“You might want to go and change before you girls head out tonight,” Frankie whispers as she pulls away from Grace. Before she heads back to the house, she smacks her on the rear and calls back, first to Brianna and Mallory, then Grace. “Have fun tonight, ladies. See you later, baby.”

With a grin to her and a glare back from Grace, Frankie meanders back to the beach house supposing that small talk over drinks isn’t going to be so small anymore.


End file.
